Virgin Dot Com Novel

[Jasmine's POV] January 1st arrives with hangovers we don't have and resolutions we won't keep. Just the four of us-Jasmine, Liam, Chloe, Zoe-sprawled across living room floor covered in magazines and posterboard. Vision boards, Liam's idea, borrowed from corporate retreat he attended years ago. "Cut out anything that makes you happy," he instructs the girls. "Anything you want this year." Chloe attacks magazines with scissors. Precise cuts, organized piles, CEO in training even at five.

Zoe's approach is chaos-ripping pages, gluing randomly, creating abstract art that probably represents her internal state better than planned imagery. I flip through glossy pages advertising lives I'll never have. My scissors find music studios, families gathered around dinner tables, homes that look comfortable instead of aspirational. Simple images for modest dreams. Nothing grand or revolutionary, just life that feels sustainable. I glue pictures to posterboard. Music studio where album was born. Kitchen table holding four instead of five. Couple holding hands without audience.

My vision is modest now, stripped of ambition that nearly destroyed us. When did my dreams become so conventional? My chest tightens around the question. And why does conventional feel like victory instead of failure? "Done!" Chloe announces, holding up her board. Unicorns dominate the top half. Princesses and rainbows fill the middle. But the bottom-the bottom freezes us both. Image of bride and groom, carefully cut from magazine, labeled in her careful printing: "Mommy and Daddy Liam getting married." The room goes silent. Liam's hand stills mid-glue.

My throat closes around breath that won't come. We look at each other over the girls' heads, panic and hope warring in his expression. "Do you want that?" Zoe's voice is innocent, curious, unaware of bomb she's detonated. "Want what, baby?" I force words through constricted throat. "For Mommy and Daddy Liam to get married." She points at Chloe's board. "Like Uncle Leo and Aunt Maya got married." My pulse hammers in my wrists. Liam's face has gone carefully blank, corporate mask hiding whatever he's feeling. The girls watch us with expectation that demands honest response.

"Would you like that?" Liam asks them, not me. Voice steady despite tension vibrating through his body. Both nod enthusiastically. Chloe bounces with excitement. Zoe claps hands together, already planning flower girl duties in her head. "We'll talk about it," I say. Deflection parents perfect, pushing conversation to undefined later that might never come. "Let's finish your boards, okay?" After the girls are occupied-showing each other their visions, arguing over glue sticks-Liam finds me in kitchen.

I'm washing dishes that are already clean, hands moving through motions while brain processes what just happened. Escape disguised as productivity. "So... marriage?" His voice is careful. I scrub nonexistent food from plate. "It's too soon." "I didn't propose." He leans against counter, giving me space. "I'm just asking if it's something you'd want. Eventually." I turn off water. Face him because avoiding this conversation only delays inevitable. "My track record with commitment is shit, Liam.

Three men and I couldn't make it work." "That wasn't you failing." He steps closer, eliminating distance I've created. "That was trying to sustain something unsustainable." "Same result. Broken family. Damaged kids." My hands twist dish towel into rope. "What makes you think I won't fuck this up too?" "Because this is sustainable." His conviction cracks something in my chest. "Two people, clear structure, singular focus. We're not trying to be everything to everyone. Just everything to each other." The logic is sound. Doesn't stop fear from flooding my nervous system.

"I'm not asking you to marry me today. I'm just asking if you can see it. Us. Official. Legal. Boring and conventional and totally ours." I cup his face. Feel stubble rough against my palms, see hope and fear warring in his eyes. "Ask me in six months." "Same timeline as the baby question?" His lips twitch toward smile. "Or nothing at all." He pulls me close, won't let me retreat into fear. "We could just be... happy." "Revolutionary concept." The sarcasm comes automatically, defense mechanism against hope that feels dangerous. "Isn't it though?" His mouth finds mine. "Being happy.

Staying happy. Not complicating it." The kiss tastes of possibility. Not commitment, not promise, just consideration. He's not pushing, not demanding, just opening door and letting me decide if I want to walk through. His patience is gift I don't deserve but will take anyway. "Six months," I whisper against his lips. "Six months," he agrees. "Then we talk about marriage and babies and everything we're too scared to decide now." "What if I'm still scared in six months?" "Then we wait longer." His hand frames my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "I'm not going anywhere, Jazz.

You can take all the time you need." The assurance should comfort. Instead it amplifies pressure-knowing he's waiting, hoping, building future in his head that requires my participation. What if I can't give him what he wants? What if monogamy with me isn't enough after all? "Stop." His voice is firm. "I can see you spiraling. Stop." "I'm not-" "You are." He kisses my forehead. "You're catastrophizing. Imagining all the ways this could fail instead of the ways it could work." He's right.

Habit from years of managing complexity, calculating worst-case scenarios, preparing for inevitable collapse. Hard to trust that simple might actually sustain. "What if simple gets boring?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "What if you wake up one day and realize I'm not enough?" "Then I'll tell you." His honesty is brutal and necessary. "And we'll figure it out together. But Jazz-you've been enough since the day I met you. You were always enough. You just divided yourself so thoroughly you forgot what whole felt like." The observation lands with force that steals breath.

Divided myself. Fractured into insufficient portions, trying to be everything to everyone, succeeding at being enough for no one. Maybe he's right. Maybe I was never the problem-the structure was. "Okay." The word comes out small. "Okay what?" "Okay I can see it." I meet his eyes, need him to believe me. "Marriage. Baby. Us. Conventional and boring and totally ours. I can see it." His smile breaks open. Not triumphant, just relieved. "Yeah?" "Yeah." I kiss him, seal the maybe with physical confirmation. "In six months, ask me. Really ask me.

And I'll give you real answer." "Real answer could be no." "Could be." I won't lie, won't promise what I can't deliver. "But it won't be. I don't think." "That's good enough." He pulls me closer. "For now, that's perfect." From the living room, the girls call for us. Need help gluing final pieces, want to show off completed visions, demand we finish our own boards. We pull apart, return to family activity that's become our normal. But something has shifted. Six months stretches ahead with weight it didn't carry an hour ago. Six months to decide if I'm brave enough for this.

If conventional is what I actually want or just what I'm settling for. If Liam and I can build something that lasts, or if I'm destined to fail at love no matter how simplified the equation. Virgin Dot Com